Work Text:
Cyclonus didn’t need to look over at his lover to know that he was staring from across the room.
“What do you need, my love?” He turned to look at Paragon, whose visor was squinted in rumination, that processor of his almost certainly calculating something special behind that placid masked face.
“I was just thinking-“ the mech rose, leaving his bench to join Cyclonus by the window. “Well, I want to make something. Maybe paint something…”
Cyclonus welcomed him with a side-hug, draping his arm around the mech’s back and pulling him in by the waist- his dear artist was always at his best when behind an easel or with both his hands occupied, hard at work, and he was eager already to know what his lover’s next great piece would be. “Well? What will you paint?”
“You. But not just you.” Paragon’s visor gleamed cheekily- and immediately, Cyclonus could tell he was up to something. One white hand came up to caress his jaw, tracing his features slowly, analytically. “I’ve been meaning to try a new kind of painting. Something fun- something risqué.”
“… where are you going with this, Paragon?”
“I want to try my hand at eroticism. And I’d like to paint you as the subject.”
Cyclonus almost recoiled in shock, not necessarily from the idea of being depicted in such a piece but by how straightforward Paragon had been with the proposal. Such a wince did not go unnoticed by his partner, who immediately flustered and started explaining. “It wouldn’t be something you’d have to do anything weird for- it would be more of a casual baring of the spark for the painting. And if you don’t like the idea, you’re under no obligation to do it for me-“
“No, no, I like the idea- I would be honored, Paragon.” Cyclonus stopped him mid-sentence. “I admit I’ve never been a model for… this type of painting, though, so I’m not sure what to expect…”
“Oh, you won’t have to worry too much about the specifics.” Paragon seemed happy with his response. “It’s like modelling for any other painting. All you’ll need to do is to lie down, hold a pose… and be ready for me to stare at you for the next several cycles. That’s all.”
Cyclonus couldn’t hide his smile as his partner took his hand, leading him into his studio room. “Hmm. I do like that idea quite a lot.”
—
Once the blinds were drawn and the lighting arranged to perfection, Cyclonus found himself on the artist’s couch, his partner lingering over him and adjusting his limbs into the desired pose. He was sure it would look wonderful on a canvas, but in all honesty, he felt rather awkward being fussed over so thoroughly. Awkward and a little clumsy.
“Is this position comfortable for you?” Paragon asked, taking a few steps back to assess the pose, his hands outstretched in Ls, framing his partner between his fingers. Cyclonus lay before him, draped over the couch, his wings splayed and pressed flat against the couch backing. One of his arms was rested upon his helm, and the other lay over his stomach, framing his chest plates rather seductively. It was… not a pose he thought he would ever hold out of his own free will, but Paragon was the artist, and he knew best.
“Comfortable enough. Does it look good?”
“Good? Oh, yes, you look absolutely alluring, my muse. By the Thirteen…” Cyclonus’s spark skipped a pulse, flustered by the affectionate murmurs of his partner. “I really hope I haven’t run out of purple paint. You’re utterly perfect. Well, almost perfect.”
“Almost?”
“Just one more thing.” Paragon stepped back to stand beside his easel and nodded in approval. “Everything looks good- now, you can open your spark casing.”
Cyclonus blushed, but he obliged. His plating shuddered as it peeled back, purple paint giving way to steely grey interiors, his spark chamber now exposed to all the world. He hesitated just a moment before he let the last layer finally open- a bit embarrassed to be opening his spark up to the artist’s analytical optics, to be stared upon from afar.
“You don’t need to open up all the way. Just half-shuttered would suffice.” Paragon encouraged him, noticing his pause. “I think it would look better that way, actually- less exhibitionist, more coy.”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” Cyclonus chuckled. “But okay. I trust your judgement.”
There was a quiet klik as he disengaged the final barrier between his spark and Paragon’s gaze, and a sliver of brilliant, blue-white light flooded the room, bathing Paragon in his own luminance and reflecting off of his visor, which was widened in wonder.
“Oh, Cyc.” The mech whispered. “You’re not just perfect- you are perfection.”
Cyclonus had to resist the urge to bury his helm in his hands out of embarrassment- he barely knew how to react to such compliments, frankly. He settled for a flustered grunt of acknowledgment and an ever-deepening blush in his faceplates. Paragon beamed in reaction- Cyclonus could just sense the smile behind his mask- and turned back to his easel to crack open his first canister of paint.
The artist’s brush dipped into the first of many colors and swept across the canvas, a sight completely concealed from Cyclonus- so, instead, his optics followed Paragon and his quick, precise ministrations instead. If he could’ve captured his lover in a single snapshot, it would be like this- his visor dimmed in focused contemplation, hands fluttering behind the canvas with the agility of a sparrow. Cyclonus sometimes wished he knew how to paint, so he could reciprocate his lover’s gesture, to picture him like this.
Paragon’s helm dipped down behind the canvas occasionally, only to resurface to gaze upon Cyclonus’s exposed frame- and he wasn’t entirely sure that the artist was staring at him only to reference his art, by the way that visor lingered oh-so-sweetly over the light of his churning spark. It wasn’t that he was flustered to be sharing his spark with Paragon- after all, it wouldn’t be the first time his lover had seen him like this- but to have his spark studied like this, every intricacy on the surface of his most intimate, innermost light gazed upon and memorized and then committed to canvas- it was more intimate than the act of interface itself, wasn’t it?
Then a thought occurred to him as Paragon stopped painting to reference him again, and their optics paused over each other’s for that brief moment. Not wanting to move from his pose by speaking, he commed Paragon instead.
*Paragon, I just realized- what will you do with the painting once you’ve finished?*
The artist, startled by his voice in his internal audials, glanced back at his optics. “I might hang it up, like I do with the rest of my artworks.”
*Surely somewhere private, right? Somewhere that guests cannot walk in and… see all of this?*
Cyclonus’s faceplates burned thinking about his portrait being displayed for all to see- if any of their friends saw what they had made this day, he’d never hear the end of it.
Paragon laughed when he expressed that thought. “Oh, of course it’ll be somewhere private, my muse- you know your spark is for my optics only, and only mine.”
That elicited a heady pulse of light from the jet’s spark, his engines revving in arousal at Paragon’s honey-sweet, possessive words. He continued. “You know, I’ve been thinking about places to frame this, as I’ve been painting- I considered hanging it over our berth, but I already have you there every night…”
He stepped away from the canvas, his optics never leaving Cyclonus as he walked, and stopped in front of his desk. “But I’ve decided the best place to put this painting is right here. Over my work desk, so that I can savor you even while I am working, so that your light can be my inspiration for a thousand more paintings. How would you like that, my muse?”
*I would like that. Very much.* Cyclonus’s spark flared again, blazing with charge that needed to be released, demanding his lover’s gentle touch- but Paragon did not go on, turning his attention back to his canvas and strutting back over teasingly. That painting better be damn good, Cyclonus thought- because it was agonizing trying to keep himself from breaking his pose and pouncing on his partner at that instant. But he would be patient. He cycled his vents as his partner picked up the brush once more, with one more fleeting flirtatious glance over the top of his canvas, and resumed his work.
And the time that passed was an agony of slow, quiet brushwork with Paragon occasionally throwing him tempting looks, lingering over his overheating frame for longer than needed, and then darting away slyly, to return to that damned easel. If Cyclonus had ever felt actual jealousy, it was for the depiction of himself on that canvas, so slowly being worked over by Paragon’s delicate hands, every inch of him surely being so lovingly brushed over and stroked, as he had watched his lover do dozens of times with his other pieces. And how silly it was to be jealous of himself, yes, but by now he really was at risk of begging, pleading to be touched, or just outright imploding altogether. He shuttered his optics, slowing the heated cycling of his vents, reminding himself to be patient, that the time would pass any way it went and that eventually Paragon would-
“I’m finished.” His lover cut through the silence, breaking him from his trance. “Are you doing alright? Are your joints sore?”
“No.” Cyclonus croaked, not clarifying for which statement he’d answered, his spark casing opening to full exposure. “I think you should come over here and find out for yourself.”
Paragon shot him an amused look and slowly, ever sluggishly, sashayed over, right into his waiting arms. “Oh, Cyc, did I keep you waiting? Did you miss my embrace even though we were never so far apart?”
One curious hand, still smudged with little dabs of paint, traced the edges of his open chest panels, as the mech climbed onto his lap, pressing him against the couch. Cyclonus shivered in delight, his hand meeting Paragon’s and pushing it further into his casing, closer to his spark.
“You- you- spent all that time teasing me, just taking your damn sweet time with that thing- you knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?” Cyclonus breathed, his vents blasting nothing but hot air, the spark inside of him spinning and pulsing in an ever-increasing, desperate rate.
“Mm- maybe I was.” Paragon laughed. “How about I make it up to you as thanks?”
His hand suddenly dipped into Cyclonus’s spark casing, his palm pressing directly against his muse’s spark. Cyclonus gasped, his back arching off of the couch and against Paragon’s body, which sent a delightful wave of charge through Paragon’s frame. He was so overcharged that he could see the static jumping between their frames, thank goodness that he was finally here to fix that, right?
Cyclonus writhed under his touch as he stroked the surface of his spark with just the tips of his fingers, a soft moan slipping from his lips as his artist gave him the much-needed contact he had been waiting for. Beams of blazing white light shone through between Paragon’s fingers, but not enough to blind him to the beauty of the mech under him at his complete mercy. Cyclonus really was gorgeous, especially like this- no painting could ever encapsulate just how radiant he was, even as beautiful as the finished piece had turned out.
He figured he’d show it to Cyclonus later, when he would hang it up over his work desk. For now, he had more pressing things to occupy himself with.
He withdrew his hand, eliciting a soft plea from the jet to return, before he pressed the whole of his hand against Cyclonus’s spark, and the mech groaned in pleasure, leaning into his touch unconsciously. Cyclonus was close- the overcharge coming to a head, cycles of this neglect leaving him bursting at the seams, and Paragon was no cruel mech- he would get the release he had waited so patiently for. Wrapping his hand gently around Cyclonus’s spark, he caressed it with the same delicate touch he had used to paint his subject, the mech’s fingers gripping his arm hard enough to leave dents as he moaned what could only be assumed to be his name.
“Oh, Cyc~” Paragon murmured right in his audials. “You are a masterpiece.”
And like that, the jet’s frame erupted, the light of his spark filling the room with a blinding luminance that rivaled their sun as he overloaded with a desperate howl. Paragon held him close, his free hand wrapped around his arm as his other hand grasped the very core of his lover and absorbed his overflowing charge, sending shudders of pleasure down his own frame as well. Despite the sheer brightness of his lover’s spark, fizzling his optics with the influx of light input, at no point did he ever offline them. His lover was too beautiful in every one of his moments to simply look away from.
The luminance slowly lessened as Cyclonus came down from the high of overload, panting and shivering as he regained his bearings and as Paragon slowly pulled away his hand. And as soon as it left the surface of his lover’s spark, Cyclonus grasped it with one of his own and brought it to his lips, blessing it with kisses and gentle nuzzles.
“So, how was the experience?” Paragon asked, pulling himself to Cyclonus’s side to better cuddle the mech. “Would you let me paint your spark again?”
Cyclonus paused in his affections, and lay his head against the couch, tired but finally satisfied.
“Only if you promise to work a little faster next time.” He grinned.